


Game of Thrones Drabble Week (II)

by Maracuya



Series: Game of Thrones Drabble Week [2]
Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Arranged Marriage, F/M, Future Fic, M/M, Masturbation, Secret Relationship, Surprises, direwolf
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-06-22
Updated: 2018-01-25
Packaged: 2018-04-05 16:38:56
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Underage
Chapters: 6
Words: 7,711
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4187097
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Maracuya/pseuds/Maracuya
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Seven drabbles and one-shots.</p><p>1) SanSan<br/>2) Renly/Loras<br/>3) SanSan<br/>4) Jaime/Brienne<br/>5) Jaime/Sansa<br/>6) Tywin/Sansa</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. A misunderstanding

**Author's Note:**

> I don't own anything. All the credits of these texts go to GRRM.
> 
> At the moment, I'm rating this work "T", but this may change with regard to later future texts in this collection.
> 
> You're very welcome to participate in/start a Game of Thrones Drabble Week as well! It's NOT restricted to SanSan. ;-) The more, the merrier!

** **

 

**_A crack! Sansan Kingsroad/Game of Thrones AU drabble._ **

 

 

“A direwolf is no pet. Get her the Hound, she'll be happier for it.”

Ned Stark's head snapped up on hearing his king's comment. WHAT was Robert saying? That couldn't be true, could it?

Sure, Ned had declined Robert's wish to betroth Sansa to Joffrey since the prince had behaved like a spoiled bastard in Winterfell. And sure enough, Robert was still cross with him and surely wanted to punish him. Forcing Ned to move to King's Landing had already been one part of the punishment, and nominating Ser Jaime as the new Hand had be a second slap in the face... but the king couldn't mean this, could he?

 

Ned's body became as taut as a bowstring, and he said: “Begging your pardon, Your Grace, but Clegane isn't the right man for my delicate, high-born daughter.”

In answer to that, the king furrowed his brow and growled: “What do you mean, Ned, Cleg– ”

And then, Robert's eyes widened in sudden understanding, he burst into a fit of laughter, and slapped his massive thigh.

“HAHAHAHA, Ned, now that's a good one. Didn't know you had such japes in you!”

 

At that point, it dawned on Eddard Stark that he had simply misunderstood his king and childhood friend, and he was willing to relax – at least as much as he could under these circumstances. However, the moment of mirth was short-lived. To begin with, Sansa had understood that the king had previously talked about having Lady killed, so she was weeping and squealing and begging for mercy.

That, in its turn, made Robert angry.

“To be honest, I'm starting to think better of the Hound. At least, he's good at obeying, in contrast to your big beasts.”

 

It looked as if Cersei had only waited for such an opportunity.

“Robert, give Sansa to Clegane at once, and the girl may have her wolf's life as a wedding present.”

“You're not serious!” Robert answered his wife with round eyes.

Even Arya, who had been going rampant, looked shocked because of the mere idea of Sansa and the Hound together. At the same time, a malicious grin was spreading on Joffrey's lips.

Eddard couldn't believe his ears and shouted at the queen: “Sansa is a girl! She hasn't even flowered yet, and you want to have her in the clutches of a lowly, brutish second son from an upstart house?”

But Cersei only waved her hand and remained adamant.

 

“Balderdash! Clegane is a most loyal and competent fighter, and Joffrey's sworn shield besides. My husband can bestow a fief and a title on him as a wedding present, and your girl's animal will see another day. Besides, Clegane can be told not to bed Sansa until she has flowered. Don't tell me that such arrangements haven't been made before.”

 

Ned was in no way willing to exchange Sansa's future for Lady's life – but unfortunately, Sansa saw things differently.

His girl was so frightened she looked as if she might make water on herself at any moment, but at the same time, she pleaded: “Father, if this saves Lady, I'm willing to go through with it.”

At once, Cersei responded: “See, Robert, even Sansa is willing.”

 

“I am her father! Don't I have any saying on the matter?” Eddard thundered.

Robert looked exhausted and averse to any more arguing. At the same time, he seemed to be ashamed of his own weakness.

The king grabbed a goblet of wine and looked into it so he wouldn't meet his former friend's eyes.

Next, he ordered: “Take the Warden of the North and lock him up in the queen's cart until the wedding night is over.”

 

Sansa's mouth hung open and Arya yelled: “Father!”

Rough hands took Eddard by the arm. He tried to fight back, but he was surrounded by the queen's men, so he didn't stand a chance.

 

Ned's confinement in the queen's cart seemed to last for ages. He tried to wreck it with his bare hands, but to no avail.

“Gods, what will Catelyn say? Nononono, not our little girl! Sold like chattel to a horrible brute!”

That was what he kept murmuring to himself – when he wasn't weeping about Sansa's sad fate. Or cursing Robert. There was one thing that wasn't debatable anymore: the friendship between the two had come to an end.

 

Finally, the door opened. Eddard blinked. It was morning. At once, he dashed out of the cart.

“Where's Sansa? Where's my girl?” he demanded to know.

“At the breakfast table, my lord,” a soldier said.

 

Eddard hurried on, and true enough, he found Sansa where she was supposed t be. She was alone, apart from Lady at her feet.

When his daughter saw him, she jumped up and called: “Father!”

Eddard crushed her to his chest, trembling.

“I'm so sorry, Sansa, so sorry! I didn't mean it to end like this. Where is that scarred monster? What did he do to you? I'll scrap the flesh from his bones with my sword!”

 

His daughter looked up at him, but to his surprise, there was confusion in her blue eyes.

“You mean Sandor? He's done nothing to me, like he promised. He was on the lookout for Arya's butcher friend when they found him and brought him back for the wedding. King Robert has declared him Lady Whent's heir right after the ceremony.”

Ned flinched. Sandor Clegane – the heir of Harrenhal? Well, at least Robert had promoted the prince's sworn shield in such a way that the marriage was a tiny little less shameful for all of them from a social point of view. Still.

 

“Sansa, look at me and tell me honestly – has Clegane laid one of his grubby fingers on you?”

His daughter's eyes widened even more.

“No!” she affirmed.

Lord Stark breathed out in sheer relief.

Meanwhile, Sansa went on: “He has fed Lady, and Lady likes him and has licked his face. She clearly prefers Sandor to Joffrey. I'm so surprised. Sandor must be really good with all sorts of... canines. I mean, I'm still frightened of him, but he seems to be better than his reputation. He's gruff, but he hasn't hurt me at all. He's even given me a necklace as a wedding present. Look! Isn't that yellow and black pendant nice? He said it once belonged to his dead sister. To give me such a precious gift! He's kept his distance, but when I felt cold at night and I moved a bit closer for warmth he didn't snarl at me.”

Sansa giggled.

“But he snores a little, do you know that? Oh, and he's so muscled!”

 

Eddard wanted to cover his ears so he wouldn't have to hear these details.

“Where is Clegane?”

Sansa wrinkled her nose and answered: “I don't really know. In the morning, I thought I should give him a little kiss on his cheek – the good one, of course. I mean... that's what you do to mother, too, because she's your wife. So I did it, too. See, I was really brave! But I must have done it wrong somehow, because Sandor was suddenly angry and literally ran off. Can you understand this?”

Lord Stark couldn't and didn't want to understand.

 

“I'll go and have a word with him,” Eddard said...

and thought: “I'll turn the man into dog hash.”

At that moment, he felt Sansa's hand on his arm. Her face was very serious.

“I'm sorry for giving you so much worry, father. But don't blame Sandor for anything. He was ordered to do this and didn't have a choice, just like me, but he has promised to keep me safe. He... won't hurt me. Other than Joffrey or the queen. That much I've learned now. Please, father, I think Sandor deserves a chance. You didn't love mother at first sight, did you? And it took a while to change, didn't it? I think I want to try to establish a relationship like you did.”

 

Ned looked into the distance. His Sansa was such a good girl. Too good for a man like Clegane – and not only for social reasons. Yet, he couldn't go against her explicit wish, not after what had befallen her. He stroked her auburn locks and cast a look further down at Lady. The animal gazed back, tongue lolling out. It looked as if the wolf were grinning like a fool.

 

Ned thought back to the moment when he had found the pup, together with his sons. Then, he thought ahead, of the vipers' nest that King's Landing was. For the first time, he wondered whether it might actually turn into an advantage for Sansa to have two canine guardians at her disposal.

 


	2. Waking up next to your secret love for the first time

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My very first attempt at slash writing. Pre-canon.

It was the crack of dawn.

“You know... I've come to appreciate that roses have got thorns,” Renly murmured into the ear of his new lover.

Loras chuckled.

“You did like mine, didn't you?” he taunted the king's younger brother.

“Ah, very much so,” Renly admitted freely and wrapped his arms around Loras's waist. “Did you sleep well?”

Loras answered: “How could I not after last night?”

He turned around in the other one's arms and kissed Renly, who was as responsive as one could possibly hope for.

 

After a while Loras sighed.

“It's a pity we have to keep this secret. I wish we could show the world our true feelings. If anyone asks about tonight we must say we've been playing Cyvasse and have been talking shop about military strategies and lost track of time. Hmph. As it is, we'll go on crushing women's hopes wherever we go. ”

Renly's eyes darkened.

“We may even have to marry one day. Gods, I can't imagine how to bed a woman. I can't even figure out how much wine I'd have to drink to be able to perform my duty.”

 

Loras's hand played with his lover's darker chest hair, deep in thought.

“Perhaps we could win over my sister Margaery for you at some point. She's a wonderful young woman, and intelligent at that. If there's anyone who might ever understand this here without judging us too harshly, it would be her.”

 

Renly bethought himself.

“It's still too early to make such decisions, but I'll keep your idea in mind.”

He nibbled on Loras's ear and mumbled: “What about some jousting in the morning? I mean... down in the training yard.”

That caused Loras to laugh.

“I'd very much appreciate that. And... may I invite you to Highgarden? You will absolutely love it there – perhaps with the exception of my sharp-tongued grandmother.”

 

Renly chuckled.

“The infamous Lady Olenna. Can we bring her to King's Landing so she can torment my sod of a royal brother?”

Loras grinned: “I'll have to remember you're a cruel man who likes to inflict sorrow on others, so I can guard myself – and my heart.”

Renly smirked and pointed with his index finger into the air.

“Too late, my dear, too late. I think you have lost your heart already.”


	3. Winning against your inner demons

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A post-QI SanSan story. Enjoy.

The Gates of the Moon were a roaring inferno after most of the Lords Declarant had revolted against the bloody Mockingbird. Even from here one could see the flames and smell the mix of fire, soot, charred wood and burned flesh. It made Sandor nauseous.  
Under his cowl, which hid his face, he shook his head in disbelief. He had only ever known Petyr as one of the most cunning players in the Game of Thrones... and one of the most dangerous men. Perhaps even THE most dangerous man.

Well. That was over now for sure. Littlefucker had overplayed his hand this time.  
Sandor nudged the arrow-feathered body of the short, elegantly-clad man with his shoes.  
“He's managed to leave the Gates in secret. Or rather ALMOST in secret,” he growled to the Elder Brother at his side.  
“Obviously,” the monk murmured. “Sorry to have missed this fight?”  
“And here I thought you were the one who said the Hound was dead.”  
The Elder Brother cocked his head and looked at the huge man in his rough-spun brown robe.  
“In the north there are many dead things rearing their ugly heads again I've heard.”  
“Do I look like I'm from the north?”  
“Actually, you do, Sandor.”  
“Bastard.”  
The Elder Brother sighed.

“The Seven be blessed! You've come at the right moment to take care of the wounded and the dying,” Lothor Brune said to the monk and pointed at various people. The knight looked more than a little ruffled himself, and blood was oozing from a wound on his forehead.  
Sandor's gaze swept over the crowd. His heart dropped.  
“No Sansa Stark,” he whispered in the holy man's ear. “I'm going. I've got to look for her.”

In the chaos outside the Gates of the Moon, Sandor hovered around like a huge, black crow. Then, he spotted a woman who was now in half-burned rags, but one could still see that those rags had been a dress of a noblewoman before the fights had begun. This woman surely know Petyr Baelish's bastard daughter.  
“You, woman! What's your name?” Sandor rasped, keeping his face well-hidden.  
The woman winced, but answered duly: “Myranda Royce, good brother.”  
Sandor snorted and would have barked his laughter at being addressed in such a way, had he not been so worried.

“Have you seen Baelish's daughter?”  
Myranda Royce gazed up at him, eyes unnaturally wide.  
“The last time I saw her we were inside the castle, good brother.”

Bile rose in Sandor's throat.  
“I see,” he said. “I'll go in and try to find her.”  
Myranda Royce nodded.  
“Oh yes, please do that!”

But Sandor didn't grant her one more word, had already spun around on his heels and was marching towards the Gates of the Moon as best he could with his limp. Fortunately, nobody thought of attacking a giant brother from the Quiet Isle.  
The much greater problem was the furnace ahead. Worst of all... some of it was coloured green. It had likely been Littlefucker who had possessed and used some Wildfire to use it against his enemies and to safeguard his flight in case of need. The green, hellish fire had not helped the former Master of the Coin, but it had done a lot to send many people to the Stranger, and to make the castle burn where normal stone would normally not have been inflammable.

Sandor couldn't help it, revealed his face for a moment, and puked into a corner. He was back at the Battle of the Blackwater! Seven fucking hells!  
But no, there was a difference this time: he wasn't leading any men, wasn't urged on by the bloody Imp... and he was trying to reach Sansa, not to run away from her.

Flames were still licking on the sooty walls here and there, causing Sandor to retch again, but he kept going.  
“One foot in front of the other,” he kept ordering himself. “I'll find you, little bird, and this time, I'll keep you safe. This time, I'll keep my promise. Only please be alive, please!”  
He moved from one room to the next, avoiding the worst flames and rounding charred carcasses on his way. The smoke bit him in the eyes, and he started to cough.

The Great Hall was a deserted mess when he entered, and partly burned. He looked here and there... and suddenly, his teary eyes discovered the lifeless form of a young woman under a fallen beam. He would have recognised her anywhere, though her hair was a dark, crusty half-melted mess, but otherwise, he couldn't spot any burnings.  
“Little bird!” Sandor gasped and all but ran towards the woman.  
He was sobbing and didn't care one whit.

With all the power he could muster he hauled the beam away, knelt and cradled Sansa in his arms, ever so gently. Her eyes were closed, her body limp.  
Sandor tried to listen to a heartbeat, but his own heart was too loud in his ears.  
Gods! He had lost her!  
Sandor squeezed his eyes shut in abject grief and wanted to die as well.

But then, Sansa shuddered, gasped weakly for air and coughed.  
From one second to the next, Sandor tensed, he opened his eyes, his heart hammered away and his mind snapped back into focus.  
“Must take the little bird with me. To the Elder Brother. To safety,” his instincts ordered.

Just at that moment, he heard Sansa's voice, brittle and tiny: “Sandor...”  
“She's using my name!? And how the fuck does she know it's me? She's half unconscious and her eyes are closed!”  
“Shhhht, little bird. I'm here. To keep you safe. You remember I told you I'd keep you safe, don't you? Here, let me take you. Shhhht, careful now.”

Ever so gently, he picked her up. All he was focusing on was to take Sansa with him. To safety. He was weary of the flames around him, of the heat, the stink, but his heart was with Sansa, and he was only afraid of her health – he didn't have any room for being afraid of fire.

Sansa coughed again and leaned her head against his collarbone.  
“I'm sorry, Sandor,” she whispered. “I haven't got the white cloak anymore.”  
“Ssssht, don't worry, little bird,” he rumbled. “That's no problem. Just relax.”  
But Sansa's voice reached him again: “I held the cloak dear. As long as I had it.”  
She coughed.  
Sandor's stomach somersaulted, and he didn't feel Sansa's weight or the pain in his weak leg anymore.  
“If you want to, I'll get you another cloak. But now hush. You need fresh air. Lots of fresh air. You've got a smoke poisoning, and a few broken bones, too, I fear.”

Sandor had to concentrate on the way ahead, which was cluttered with rubble, so he couldn't look down at Sansa's lovely face, but he felt her smile against him, even through the rough-spun fabric he was wearing.  
“Cloak. Yellow. Black. Stay. Please.”  
Sandor choked.  
Ah, he could always say he was crying because of the smoke. It wasn't even a lie. No, it wasn't.  
Fuck, but the Elder Brother would know.

And then, he was outside, safe and sound. People rushed towards him, took Sansa... and suddenly, Sandor's knees gave way under him. The cool earth felt soothing against his face, and he gasped and gasped.  
Then, he could hear the Elder Brother: “Oh. That doesn't look good. The broken ribs and the arms are one thing, but the smoke poisoning... I don't think she'll make it.”

Sandor's heart clenched.  
He gritted out: “You will bloody do what you can, or you WILL have an undead Hound on your heels, understood? And I will not give her up. I will stay with her. I will not lose her like I did my sister. I won't. I WON'T.”  
The Elder Brother sighed, but Sandor was too stubborn to give up hope.

They were both put onto mats in a hastily-erected tent. Sandor refused to move one inch away from Sansa, who was unconscious. Neither did he let go of her hand. Her hands were cold, so cold.  
Sandor had never been a pious man, and though he had stayed on the Quiet Isle for so long, he hadn't become any more religious. Yet, during that night he kept praying to both the Maiden and the Stranger.  
“All I want to do is to see her blue eyes again,” he thought.

He had buried so many people during his healing process, and he had always hoped to bury the inner demons of his past as well: his fear of fire, the sense of losing everyone who might have been friendly towards him at some point, the deadliness of the Hound... but now, he knew he'd never truly overcome them without Sansa.  
When the sun sent its first rays of sunshine towards the Vale the next morning, he coughed, woke up after a short, troubled slumber and leaned over his little bird. He even went as far as to ghost a kiss on her lips. Of course, he wasn't a gallant prince in a fairy-tale, who could wake up the princess from a deadly curse with just one kiss, but –  
“Sandor?”

He flinched and inched back.  
Sansa's eyes were open, though still overcast. And she was smiling at him. That was the moment, Sandor thought he could die a happier man.  
“Why didn't the little bird fly when the tree was set on fire?”  
Had he been more daring he'd have asked why she wasn't afraid of him after the Battle of the Blackwater.  
Sansa uttered something between a cough and a chuckle.  
“Fly away? When this was the perfect chance to make you my Florian?”  
She coughed again.  
Sandor palmed his face.  
“And when did the little bird learn to chirp in such a teasing way? Turning into a mockingbird?”  
“Ffft. Turning into a wolf, rather.”  
That caused Sandor to grin.  
“Wolves and dogs fit together much better than other animals.”  
That brought a twinkle into Sansa's eyes.  
“Didn't take you for one who'd nest in trees.”

That caused Sandor to throuw back his head and to bark his laughter so loudly that he was sure the echo reverberated everywhere in the Vale.  
Outside of the tent, he then heard the Elder brother say in a contented voice: “Looks like a certain someone has won against his inner demons.”


	4. An unexpected gift

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm doing no. 5 first, because I had a Jaime/Brienne AU idea that got stuck in my head.

“Here we are, wench,” Jaime said and led her into the room. “Since I know you'll be travelling soon I thought I should give you something beforehand.”

 

Brienne's eyes bulged. There was a beautiful set of armour spread out before her: in her size, the best material, and the colour...  
“I thought blue would go well with your eyes,” Jaime said in an offhand voice. “And look at this: a fine sword. Newly-forged.”

“Valyrian steel!” Brienne breathed and couldn't believe he'd give her such a precious gift.

“It's not as if I had much use for it,” Jaime commented in an acid tone and held up his stump. “The blade still needs a name. What do you think?”

 

Brienne bethought herself for a moment, then answered: “Oathkeeper.”

Jaime's gaze at her intensified, and his eyes darkened, though it was not from anger. Next, he flashed her one of his typical, dazzling grins that could hide his true feelings so well.

 

“Oh, and this isn't everything. I've got something else for you. Can you keep a secret?”

Brienne frowned.

“It would not be honourable to spill it to someone else.”

Jaime laughed.

“Hahaha, my honourable lady knight. I so know you'd come up with this answer.”

 

After that, he became more serious.

“My father has made sure I was kicked out of the King's Guard, only it hasn't been made public yet.”

Once more, he looked at his stump.

“You know, wench, I'm not capable of keeping the king safe without my sword hand, so somebody else will be appointed in my stead.”

 

Brienne pressed her hand onto her mouth.

“Gods, no! The King's Guard is meant for life.”

“No need to tell me wench, but they have already kicked out Ser Barristan, and that has set an example. My dearest Lord Father was eager to repeat the action. So... I thought you should get my cloak.”  
Jaime pointed at a bundle he produced from under a table.

 

That caused Brienne to gasp.

“The white cloak from the King's Guard? But... but... I'm a woman. I can't be appointed. They'll never allow it.”

Jaime pointed with his chin.

“Look, wench.”

 

With cautious movements, Brienne unfolded the bundle and looked inside.

She furrowed her brow.

“Oh, you must have made a mistake, Jaime.”

“Must I?”

“Yes, this is one of your Lannister cloaks in gold and red.”

 

Jaime breathed in.

“Actually, I don't think it's a mistake. My father wanted to have me back so I could become the heir of Casterly Rock. His heir. And now, it'll be a matter of little time until he announces a political match for me I'm bound to despise. I mean – look at him, he's not exactly the god of love, so what could I expect him to cook up? Sure, this is all only something for you if you're no coward –“  
“I'm no coward!” Brienne interjected, but she was also completely confused.

 

Jaime grinned at her.

“Splendid!”

He clapped her on the back.

“I wouldn't want to have another wife but you for the life of me. But we have to be really quick now so as to anticipate another betrothal. Prepare yourself and put on fresh clothes. No worry, you don't have to wear a dress. I love you the way you are. Meet you in an hour at the sept!”

And with those words, Jaime pressed a quick kiss on her lips, turned around and hastened out of the room with energetic strides.

 

Brienne was left behind, goggling and gaping like a carp on land. Her fingers moved to her lips and felt where he had touched her.

 

 _“This here has all been one of his little Lannister schemes! Love me – my left foot!”_ she thought and became angry for a moment. _“He can go and stuff his cloak up into his –”_  
But then, she thought better of it. A wicked grin crept onto her lips.

_“Jaime Lannister, why do I have the feeling you haven't thought this through? You're binding yourself to me for life. I'll be able to torture you for being the stupid sod you are forever. Ooooh, I think this will be fun if I go about it deftly. You'll soon find out!”_

 

And with those ideas, she rolled up her sleeves, eyes sparkling, and set off to trap herself a one-pawed lion.


	5. An unexpected gift

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Jaime/Sansa future AU, rating "E". Book canon.

**Spring and autumn**

 

Sansa's boot got nearly stuck in the puddle. There was a slurping sound when she lifted her leg. She continued to walk the grounds of Winterfell. A constant drip-drip-drip told her of melting ice and snow.

“Finally spring is here,” she thought.

 

Yet, the retreating white blanket also revealed how severely her home was damaged. What was worse was that now, after the long winter, there were no provisions left.

Under normal circumstances, Sansa would have sent out ships from White Harbour to import food from Essos. The problem was that she didn't only lack food, but also money. Thus, she didn't have the means to buy anything. By the look of it, many people would starve, and soon. Many had already starved, as a matter of fact.

 

Sighing, Sansa returned to the great hall and shook out her wet fur coat. She saw little Barbrey play in the rushes and feared for her little daughter's future. For now, the cheeks of the two-year-old toddler were still rosy enough, but her prospects weren't good under the given circumstances.

 

At that moment, Feorl, a former wildling who had been with Jon until the Wall had come down, announced a visitor. Was it her half brother who had come back from eradicating the last stray wights?

 

But no.

Sansa needed a moment to recognise the man who entered the great hall. It had been years since she had seen him last, and he had changed a lot. His formerly golden hair was shot through with grey strands now, and he didn't sport a cocky smirk like he had been wont to do in the past.

“Ser Jaime?” Sansa asked, eyebrows rising.

 

To her surprise, the Kingslayer bended the knee in front of her.

“Lady Stark.”

Sansa blinked. She had had no direct contact with he Lannister family since she had fled the capital. Petyr had made sure hers and Tyrion's marriage had been annulled, and after Sansa's husband Harry had died and Tyrion had returned from Essos, she and the Imp had exchanged a few letters, but they had never come face to face again. Sansa had only heard of Tyrion's heroic death during a fight in the north.

Then what did his elder brother want in Winterfell?

 

Sansa looked at the ageing knight. He was nearing the autumn of his life whereas it was spring outside. Cersei's death had obviously made him old beyond his years.

And Queen Daenaerys hadn't wanted him in the Kingsguard anymore. Had she not needed every single person to fight the Others, she'd likely have done worse to him, Sansa guessed. Or perhaps the queen had wanted him to lead a cripple's life. With Daenaerys you never knew.

 

Ser Jaime looked up at Sansa and stood straight again.

“I've heard you've got many problems here now.”

Sansa cocked her head.

“There are always many problems to deal with. That's the nature of ruling.”

The Kingslayer nodded.

“The castle is damaged, I've already seen as much. But at least you've still got a family seat, Lady Sansa. You know – I never wanted Casterly Rock, but now that it's gone, I miss it.”

 

Sansa shrugged and still didn't know what the Kingslayer wanted from her.

“You can always try to rebuild the castle.”

Ser Jaime sighed. How serious he had become. Gone was the image of a knight in shining armour.

“I've still got the goldmines, sure...,” he said.

With his left hand, he removed the golden prostthesis he wore where his right hand had been. He handed her the object.

 

Sansa blinked.

“What is the meaning of this?” she wanted to know.

Ser Jaime cleared his throat and didn't look at her.

“I've heard that there are several men asking for your hand. I'm rather giving you mine instead, so to speak. You need it more than I do. For food. For your people.”

 

Sansa's heart beat faster.

“Why are you doing this?”

Ser Jaime still didn't look at her.

“We've taken more from you than gold, me and my family. And the Lannisters always pay their debts. Even the last living Lannister does. Besides, I once promised your mother I'd keep you safe, and this is probably my last chance at doing so. By ensuing you won't starve.”

 

The Kingslayer's words caused Sansa's thoughts to reel. She had never expected any kind of compensation for what had happened, be it financial or emotional.

Sansa gazed at Ser Jaime. He looked lost. And he wasn't the man she had once known.

“ _We've both suffered, and we've both lost too many loved ones over the last years,”_ she thought.

 

Her mind also turned to other things Ser Jaime had referred to. How men were trying to court her. She had an inkling that they'd resort to violence if she didn't pick a husband soon. Sansa was a widow, but she was young and could still have many children. Stark children. Sansa had never adopted Harry's family name, because her own one was nobler. What was more, she had never felt close enough to her husband. The only thing he'd ever done for her was to give her little Barbrey – and that had been a cumbersome procedure at best.

 

Sansa's mind wandered back to Ser Jaime. She looked at the golden prostthesis she was still holding, and she came to a conclusion.

“You've offered me your gold hand, and I thank you – but I'll only accept it with the man attached to it.”

 

The Kingslayer's eyes widened and his mouth opened.

After a moment, he stammered, “Why... why would you want such a thing?”

Sansa breathed in and out.

“I need money. You need a family seat. We both want a family, don't we? Matches have been made for less.”

 

Ser Jaime finally looked her in the eyes. Words weren't necessary.

 

*~*~*~*

 

They married mere hours later. Sansa didn't want to give any man the chance to kill Ser Jaime before the ceremony. They swore their vows in the Godswood, in front of the heart tree. Sansa sensed Bran was there, with them, and approving.

 

Ser Jaime's kiss was quick and chaste. They would't have a feast as there wasn't enough food and the northerners didn't like the match; but Sansa was convinced they'd come to accept the new lord of Winterfell after a while.

 

Without a feast, there was no bedding ceremony either, and Sansa was glad about it. She still remembered the last one, and the pain she had felt when Harry had made her a woman. It had taken weeks to learn how to ignore what her husband had been doing between her legs, but she had finally found a way to feel around the soreness and the embarrassment.

 

What confused her was that her new bridegroom was so utterly different when it came to wedded intimacies. He was the blushing and self-conscious one of the two of them when he put off his clothes. His stump played a part in this, too, but it wasn't the only reason.

“ _He's never learned how to 'do his duty',”_ Sansa realised. Now that was a weird feeling, given how much younger she was than him.

Jaime even needed some... encouragement. Harry had just done what he wanted to do, had had his fun, and that had been it. He'd never cared about her. Had never looked at her body in detail. Had never touched her any more than necessary – for which Sansa had been grateful.

 

With Jaime, things were different. He was very much aware of her and her body, and they were suddenly both shy and embarrassed. As if they were both inexperienced.

When Jaime finally managed to push into her, he closed his eyes and stilled for a moment. It was then that Sansa realised she couldn't feel around his presence. And strangely enough, she thought it wasn't necessary to do so. Because what they were doing didn't hurt.

“Gods, Sansa, what now?” Jaime whispered.

Sansa didn't know an answer – but somehow, it was a relief to know they shared this question.

 

It was her body that found an answer. It started to relax in a way she had never known. At the same time, Jaime's body began to move of its own accord. They both started to gasp, and Sansa could only marvel at the new feelings that flooded her very core. Gasps turned into whimpers into hungry moans.

In and out Jaime slid with his shaft, and for the first time, Sansa was watching the procedure. She saw how his member was glistening with her juices where she had never been wet before when her dead husband had claimed her.

Jaime's eyes were feverish, and despite her ecstasy, Sansa realised their coupling was taking much longer than any tumble she had experienced before. But then, she couldn't think straight anymore, her womanhood – and also other parts – suddenly stiffened... and the next moment, she cried out and a wild wave crashed over her, flooded her, reduced her to pure lust – and in a way, it cleansed her, too.

Some more desperate thrusts on Jaime's part, and then, he groaned in relief as well.

 

Afterwards, they lay together, still touching, but not knowing how to proceed. It all was so awkward.

“ _Awkward, yes, but still better than anything I've ever felt,”_ Sansa mused.

She had heard that intimacies would be wonderful between true lovers, so she wondered how much better it could be than what she had just experienced. How could it be any better at all?

She thought of Jaime and Cersei.

 

“Are you disappointed?” Sansa asked her bridegroom.

Jaime blinked.

“What gives you the impression I could be disappointed?” he asked.

“I'm not... not HER,” Sansa peeped.

There was a silence.

Then, Jaime said, “I'm not disappointed. And yes, you're not her. And that's good. You're giving me now what I thought I'd never have. Why... I've even got a daughter now. And if everything goes right, we'll have children in the future.”

 

Sansa smiled, her eyes serious. Jaime Lannister and her – it was an impossibility. But over the last years, Sansa had learned how so many impossible things were actually possible. She thought of herself and her new husband and felt a certain warmth that shouldn't be there, given what had happened in the past.

“ _We're spring and autumn, sun and snow, ice and fire – and all the seasons and kinds of weather in between.”_

 


	6. A place you've never given much attention to becomes important

**How things are changing...**

 

He was back! Tywin looked at the rooms he had left so many years before. The chain of the Hand was dangling around his neck once again. He guessed he actually had to thank his political enemies – especially Lady Catelyn Stark and Stannis Baratheon – for him having been able to come back on top of everything again. Not that he'd ever say it aloud. Not ever.

 

Tywin let his hands trail over the massive wooden desk in his solar he still knew so well. From now on, he'd be the one who'd be making decisions again. His retarded grandson who was styling himself as king and who was thoroughly incompetent would think himself to be decisive, of course. It was sad to see that everyone but Joffrey would be intelligent enough to know the reality to be different.

 

Since he was alone, Tywin allowed himself a sigh and rolled his shoulders. Only he himself knew he could feel he wasn't a youngster anymore, but he had to keep up pretences at all costs. His mental and physical agility was decisive for the years to come.

 

Tywin briefly wondered what Robert Arryn and Eddard Stark had been thinking while they had been sitting on this chair and at this desk. However, it wasn't his nature to ponder other people's matters for long. Instead, Tywin walked over to his private wing.

 

When he arrived at the large four-poster bed, memories of a different past set in. Of Joanna and what they had done here during their happier days. There had been days when they had frolicked in this bed, no less – unconceivable as it was for other people.

 

Tywin's cock stiffened. It had been ages since he had had a woman. He had thought himself to be beyond these primal needs, but with a growl he had to admit he had fooled himself.

“ _I'll have to ask for Alayaya's discrete service once more, I guess,”_ he mused and hated the very idea.

His investments had been good ones in this field, because the mettings with the capital's most advanced whore had been short and effective... and had remained secretive. In the past, he had supported the woman from the Summer Isles, rather than the brothels of this slimy Lord Baelish, who had become the new master of Harrenhall. Tywin knew Alayaya to be still around in the Street of Silk. Sure, these days, it would likely be her daughter who'd see to his relief. It mattered little, as long as the whole affair would be private and as long as Tywin would be able to focus on what he actually had to do.

 

The Lord of Lannister put off his clothes and sat down on the mattress of the bed. Thanks to a warm hearth fire, this was no problem at all. He allowed his head to sink against the headboard. His hard cock stood up from a nest of grey-golden hair. Tywin knew he had to take care of his body, because he'd need to return to his solar and to decide on more things that had to be organised in the wake of the Battle of the Blackwater. Frowning, Tywin noticed that the mattress was new and softer than the one he'd known.

“ _Sissies, all of them,”_ he thought about the previous Hands.

 

Then, he concentrated on his arousal and ran his hand along his shaft. Or rather he didn't concentrate on his body, but rather thought of Joanna and how he remembered their intimacies. The memories singed his very core, they always did – but he could never forget or ignore them. Not. Ever. 

 

Tywin groaned. He closed his eyes, and he tried to keep himself in check so he'd last a little longer. His cock started to throb and to leak some fluid. Some of this kind of fluid had served to beget a monster like Tyrion.

No, but he wouldn't think of the deformed killer of his wife now. Not when Tywin was reminiscing how Joanna had used to moan under him. How she had always encouraged him to fuck her harder, because it had been what she'd needed.

Gods, how he missed her!

 

The next moment, Tywin's eyes snapped open. For whatever reason, his old survival instinct poked him, somewhere, somehow.

“ _Somebody's in the room!”_ he thought. _“The tapestry!”_

 

He'd known the tapestry in his bedroom for decades and had never paid it any heed, but now, Tywin thought it was hiding an intruder.

At once, he grabbed a dagger and cursed the fact his sword wasn't close enough.

Next, he threw himself at the tapestry, and sure enough, he wrapped the fabric around a body. To his surprise, he heard a woman's shriek. Were there female assassins about by now?

 

Curious, Tywin pulled some of the fabric away and revealed a woman's face. A young woman's face. A really young one. To make things worse, he recognised the features, recognised them from someone else he had known years before. His eyes widened.

 

“Sansa Stark?” he asked.

His victim was flushed and crying and trembling... and far from being an assassin. Tywin let go of the tapestry to some extent, but was still pinning down his victim.

“What in the name of the gods are you doing here?” Tywin asked, oscillating between anger and confusion.

He could see some more of the young woman now. She was dressed in a thin nightshift, nothing more. And where the tapestry had hung, there was a gaping hole in the wall.

 

At this point, Tywin remembered there was a secret corridor between the Hand's bedroom and another bedroom above, only he had forgotten it long ago since he had never used it for a sweetheart. Sansa Stark, however, had obviously found the passage.

 

“You've watched me!” Tywin snapped.

The young woman pulled in her head. Tywin remembered she was still a maid, but didn't accept it as an excuse.

“How long have you known about this secret passage?” he demanded to know in his most intimidating voice.

 

“I... I... I'm sorry,” the young woman stammered. “I accidentally stumbled against the lever. It set the mechanism in motion. I didn't know... didn't mean to spy. Really, I...”

Sobs rattled her chest.

 

Tywin looked down at this red-haired heap of misery. No matter what she was saying – she had seen him. Had watched him, even.

Her behaviour was changing matters, and dramatically so. Before, Tywin had briefly thought of wedding her off to Tyrion; he just hadn't had enough time since his arrival back in King's Landing and after the Battle of the Blackwater to think things through.

Now, however, Sansa Stark was altering his plans. Tywin shuddered inwardly. He had never wanted to remarry. Had never wanted to risk begetting another dwarf. But Sansa Stark had seen him in private. Naked. Aroused. Nobody saw him in private and lived long enough to tell anyone any details – the only exception being a wife.

 

Aloud, Tywin said, “It doesn't matter whether you wanted to ogle me or not. Looks like you'll get the chance to ogle me for a lifetime now. Since you've seen me the way you did, we'll have to marry.”

Blue eyes looked up at him, wide with fear.

Great. Simply great. Tywin wanted to smash something. How had things gone so very wrong? At least it would be easy from a technical point of view since Joffrey had already recanted his betrothal with Sansa Stark, but the rest... Tywin was tempted to curse. Instead, he simply uttered a hiss.

 

Cersei had mentioned the Stark girl to be stupid. Tywin looked at his future wife for the first time now and noticed she had understood him, despite her obvious shock. It meant that her brain worked better than Joffrey's, even if that didn't mean much.

Naked as he was, Tywin rolled off of the young woman, who was still half wrapped in the tapestry. Sansa Stark gazed at him, couldn't take her widened eyes off him – until she realised what she was doing and squeezed her eyelids shut.

Tywin felt the urge to snap at her again. To humiliate her for doing what she had done. Yet, he somehow managed to procure a shred of basic civility he hadn't known he possessed and just turned away to don his clothes.

 

When he was done, he grabbed Sansa Stark's hand and pulled her up though her knees threatened to buckle under her.

“Put on a dress,” he ordered. “We'll go to the the sept and marry at once to get it all over with.”

Tywin didn't want to give anyone a chance to foil his intentions, least of all Cersei and Joffrey. They'd probably be stupid enough to end the life of their valuable hostage.

 

To Tywin's surprise, Sansa Stark's eyes emptied and she squared her shoulders.

“Yes, my lord,” she answered in a hollow voice and returned to her chamber to follow his orders.

“ _She's got a strong survival instinct and a sense for duty,”_ Tywin surmised. _“Perfect prerequisites for the Game of Thrones. And for a marriage with me.”_

 

He realised he was becoming interested in the Stark girl, for whatever reason. He'd never been inetersted like this in anyone else since Joanna had died.

 

Tywin looked at the hole in the wall.

“ _And all of it because of a secret passage I barely remembered. Places matter, by the look of it.”_

At that moment, Sansa Stark re-emerged from the hidden corridor, carrying a dress over her arm. Although she was far from relaxed or controlled she nevertherless seemed to have regained a fraction of composure. Would any other woman have come so far in such a short time?

“ _People matter, too,”_ Tywin thought, and he even went as far as to wonder what that would mean for their joint future. Well, the only chance was to go ahead and to find out for himself.

 


End file.
